Emmett just woke up from a nap. He’s still limp with sleep and cuddled up next to me on the couch. One arm has escaped my failed attempt at swaddling, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes slightly glazed over. I’m holding him close, his chubby cheek smooshed up against mine. So soft. So squishy. Pure, sweet baby.
I inhale deeply through my nose, taking in that heavenly baby scent that clings to his silky soft baby skin. I nuzzle my face against the top of his head, his peach fuzz tickles my lips. I spend another minute breathing in his magical baby scent, savoring this moment, willing time to stop, wishing Emmett could stay my baby forever.
If I could eat him whole, I would. I would put him in my mouth and swallow him up. He lived in my belly for 9 months; I don’t think he’d mind making that his home again.
I know that moments like this will not last forever. Soon he will be a big boy, running around, building lego castles with his Daddy, and pushing me away when I try snuggling him like this.
Now he’s awake and sitting next to me on the couch, farting up a storm and cracking up at his bodily functions. He’s all boy, this one.